


Convivial

by apartment



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Drabble Collection, Ficlet Collection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-08-19 09:57:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16532330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apartment/pseuds/apartment
Summary: Drabbles/ficlets until 3B premieres, including codas, prompt fills, and snippets of longer unfinished fics1. breakfast in bed: coda to the malec sneak peek/breakfast in bed scene2. shivers: magnus pov on being mortal, being cold, being mundane3. laundry: magnus realizes what he can and can't do without magic4. grief: alec and maryse share a quiet moment, the former and current heads of the institute5. high school!au alec struggling with sexuality because what he feels around magnus confuses him enoughBut then at some point, Alec mentally assures himself,“I’m not gay.”and his mind traitorously adds,“right?”tags: light angst, alternate universe - high school, alec-centric





	1. Magnus/Alec: Breakfast in Bed (sneak peek coda)

**Author's Note:**

> you can follow and tweet about this fic collection at #convivialmalec

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1\. coda to the malec sneak peek/breakfast in bed scene

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't expect this to get a lot of traffic but i need a place to throw all the things i've written but never posted before i lose them 
> 
> preemptively rated e because things will get hot and steamy up in here lmfao
> 
> tags: post-3x10: erchomai, hurt/comfort, alec pov

Magnus refuses to talk about it. Even when Alec fixes him with a determined stare, the lift of his chin somehow both authoritative and pleading, Magnus does not. Cannot, Alec guesses.

He’s intimately familiar, of course, with the way Magnus deflects attention from himself and weaves his way around questions he does not want to answer. But it’s frustrating, not being able to get out of bed and hold Magnus close, to even the footing they’re on so Magnus feels safe to discuss what happened.

From the time Alec woke up, disoriented and weak with six _iratzes_ faintly activated, Magnus has been caring for him. Alec appreciates it, and he adores Magnus more than words can say, from the brave set of his shoulders to the smile he can tell Magnus hopes is reassuring.

But he can tell Magnus is hurting, _badly_ , in ways that Alec can’t fix. And they still haven’t talked about it. It rails against every instinct Alec has, to submit to caretaking by someone who Alec wants to help himself.

And there’s the other layer, the one Alec turns over in his head when Magnus isn’t in the room to watch his features shatter, just a little: it’s _Alec’s_ fault that Magnus sacrificed his magic, and now Magnus is _caring_ for him? Like _Alec_ wasn’t the one to send him down to Edom, like Alec hadn’t looked him in the eye and asked him to go?

Every time Alec tries to bring it up, Magnus’ eyes turn hunted, and he says with a small _tsk_ and a smile: “Heal first. Then talk.”

Alec is nearly healed now, but there remains a bone-deep familiarity with death that seems to weigh him down. It’s why he doesn’t challenge Magnus on his avoidance at first. But every time Magnus offers something he once would have done with magic, Alec feels an even deeper pang strike close to his heart, like the arrow, but sharper, somehow.

“I appreciate it, Magnus,” he says, when Magnus offers to go get them takeout. “But you don’t need to do all that for me.”

 _Please don’t do this for me_ , Alec begs silently. _I’m not worth it. I did this to you. I’ve made you hurt in a way I never knew possible._

But Magnus always answers with a smile. Sometimes it’s tight around the edges, like he’s frustrated that Alec just won’t let him help. Alec doesn’t understand why Magnus can even stand to look at him, sometimes.

He knows that Magnus is irritated at his inability to care for Alec in the big ways anymore, the ways he used to with magic. Healing him would have been the first thing, and Alec clearly remembers the desperation on Magnus’ face in that alleyway, as he’d told Jace that he’d been stripped of his magic.  

But Alec gets it, he supposes. If he was able, he’d march down to Edom right now, his bow strung over his shoulder, and wrench Magnus’ magic back from Asmodeus even if it killed him. They’ve both lost their abilities to help each other in the ways most routine to their natures.

The only problem is Alec is healing, and Magnus is not. And Alec has never been the type of person to sit idly and be taken care of when someone he loves is hurting, too.

The next night, Magnus offers to help Alec change for bed. It’s a simple action, but one that previously would have been accomplished with magic. But Alec is tired of fighting Magnus on overextending himself, especially when there seems to be no limit to Magnus’ desire to help.

“Thank you,” he says instead of his usual _“You don’t have to.”_ And Magnus’ lips curve up, satisfied and pleased.

So the next morning, when Alec wakes up to Magnus bustling in the kitchen, the smell of eggs wafting through the loft, he resists the temptation to tell Magnus to take it easy, to come back to bed and not worry. He’s sitting up when Magnus returns to the bedroom, carrying with him a tray of an omelette, orange juice, and a small cut rose in a vase.

It makes something in Alec’s chest tighten a little, like tears rising through his lungs.

“Is today a special occasion?” he asks, even as he sags in bed a little, wishing today hadn’t been one of the mornings where he woke feeling inches from the ground of that alleyway.

“It’s your day off,” replies Magnus easily. That’s right; Alec’s been helping the Institute research Clary’s disappearance, but Maryse and Isabelle won’t be coming by today. He’d nearly forgotten. “And I want to make the most of it.”

Magnus sits by the bedside and slides the tray over to Alec with a smile so pleasant and careful that Alec feels something shift in him, so viscerally he can nearly hear it. There’s no point in questioning how Magnus can stand to treat him with such tenderness when instead, he could be helping Magnus smile, just a little.

Especially because Alec knows Magnus went out to get that rose, special for him.

“That’s actually really sweet,” he concedes, closing his eyes against the onslaught of emotion he feels rising through him.

When Magnus smiles, Alec nearly trembles with it. A love so potent and thunderous was never meant to be estranged from magic, but the broken pieces are less jagged on such soft mornings. Somehow, together, they’ll push through.


	2. Magnus/Alec: Shivers (post 3x10 magnus pov)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2\. magnus pov on being mortal, being cold, being mundane

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm still awake and therefore it's still the same day 
> 
> #convivialmalec is the hashtag on twitter to follow and tweet! 
> 
> tags: post-3x10: erchomai, magnus pov, light angst

Magnus never knew it would feel like this. 

He sits on his sofa, huddled with two blankets around his shoulders, but the chill in his bones remains, as if he’s freezing from the inside out. Why did he ever think living without his magic would be manageable? There’s an emptiness between his ribs, growing. He’s miles apart from himself, shattered and thrown to the wind, a gaping maw where once there was blue fire. 

Once, Magnus would have called himself kinetic. But there is nothing left of that energy in his blood, and the more Magnus stares blankly into the air, the more unpleasant he feels, like it’s been festering on his skin and has now finally burrowed its way inside. Mortal. Magicless. Mundane. 

Over the crackling of the fireplace next to the sofa, Magnus can hear Alec rummaging around the kitchen, and soon the sweet aroma of hot chocolate spreads through the loft, thick in the air. But even when Alec approaches and presses the steaming mug into Magnus’ hands with a careful smile, the cold doesn’t dissipate. 

Alec takes a seat next to Magnus, and the sofa cushions shift with his weight, but Magnus doesn’t peel his gaze from the mug. The blankets around him shift a little, one sliding off a shoulder, but it hardly matters; the cold isn’t outside, or in the air. 

The steam of the hot chocolate is warm on his face, and Magnus peers into the mug, at the marshmallows bobbing idly. It looks good, and he can nearly taste it already. But he knows it won’t help, not with this, not with the way his chest is ripped open and bare. 

The silence of his body is deafening, and under it all, Magnus is so cold it feels like flames. His body is fighting itself, and he can make no peace with this current state. Perhaps it is disappointment that he won’t get better, or maybe relief for an end in sight, that he won’t have to live long like this. 

The fissure in his lungs is filling with the things he cannot bring himself to think about, and the longer Magnus stares at this hot chocolate, the harder it becomes to breathe. So he looks at Alec instead, leaning against Magnus, so close he’s nearly on top of him. 

To the desolation in his veins, Magnus reminds that he did it for Alec, and that this love is worth it, because it is true and loyal and consuming. 

Yes, he is bleeding now. But was he not before, at the bated breath of Alec’s tentative touch, at the way Alec would regard him, reverent and almost surprised? If Magnus is a chasm now, he was still a cavern before, broken open and welcoming to Alec’s steadfast worship. 

It is not so foreign, this feeling of cold burning. Magnus has lit himself on fire for Alec twice already: to Edom, and in the unsteady way he held out his hand and implored, all that time ago. He has been alight since Alec stepped down from the altar. What is one more time? 

At least Alec’s hands are warm. At least his lips are steadier than the yearning of Magnus’ heart. Is it regret that tinges the tilt of Magnus’ chin as he presses a kiss to Alec’s cheek? Is it understanding the shadows Alec’s slow exhale? 

Magnus never knew it could feel like this. 


	3. Magnus/Alec: Laundry (post 3x10 magnus pov)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 3\. magnus realizes what he can and can't do without magic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha i said 1 a day but don't think that's gonna happen lads. but i'm aiming for like 90/100 before 3b
> 
> tags: post-3x10: erchomai, light angst 
> 
> tweet and follow this fic with #convivialmalec

There are a lot of things Magnus knows he can’t do with magic anymore. Cooking is one of them, and summoning take-out and various other daily necessities are others. It’s been decades since Magnus had been grocery shopping. Fortunately, Alec takes care of most of that for him, these days.

The week after returning from Edom, Magnus had a lot of downtime just sitting at Alec’s bedside. He’d forced himself to think about it then, to compile a list in his head of things that were once-routine, but no longer. At least coming to terms with it off-the-bat would keep him from being blindsided by his sheer helplessness every time something like _(1) healing_ , or _(2) portalling_ , or _(23) making drinks_ , or _(37) tailoring_ arose.

But there’s one that didn’t make his list, as exhaustive as Magnus tried to make it. He doesn’t know how he forgot, but staring at the pile of clothes on his closet floor, Magnus is struck silent, drenched in an anguish that starts at his bones.

 _Oh_ , he thinks, because that’s what he can manage. All he’d wanted to do is wear his black sweater, medium-thickness, a little large, and ribbed at the hems. He’d worn it a few days ago, too, but it was a comfortable top to burrow into during his idle days.

Laundry. How could that have slipped his mind? Magnus doesn’t even have a washer/dryer unit in his loft, and now he can’t even summon one, or make room for it. He doesn’t know where the nearest laundromat or dry cleaner is. He doesn’t know, he’d never bothered to find out, because this eventuality was never on his radar, not in the four-hundred years he’s lived.

And now his hand are trembling, violently, as he kneels on the floor, digs through his dirty clothes, finds the sweater he wants. He couldn’t bear to put it on right now, even if it probably smells fine. The thought of it makes Magnus’ skin itch from the inside-out, raw and restless. Like it’d be giving up, giving into his mundane existence.

 _Although_ , a voice reminds him, _what else can he do?_ He’s going to have to accept living as a mundane eventually, even if the notion makes him nauseous still.

There’s a grief simmering in his skin, making him numb and blank. A roaring in his ears that muffles out every attempt to think, or do _something_. A furious sense of loss creeping through his body that feels similar to petrification.

Even if he’s not a warlock anymore, can Magnus still fade into death the way immortal beings do? His body is mortal, but he has four centuries behind him, and the weight of them settled along his shoulders is crippling.

When tears come, spilling down his cheeks, Magnus is nearly relieved.

And that is how Alec finds him, some indiscernible amount of time later, hunched over on the closet floor in just his underwear. His towel, still damp, is thrown on the floor beside him.

“Magnus,” Alec’s voice is hushed but urgent. “What is it?” He doesn’t ask “ _what’s wrong_ ” because the answer is everything. This is just a single instance. _What is it_ this time _?_

Alec sits down next to him and pulls Magnus into his chest. But there’s hesitance there; Alec doesn’t know what Magnus needs sometimes, space or comfort. Magnus knows Alec blames himself and probably thinks Magnus does too. He probably thinks Magnus should hate him.

But Magnus can’t think about that right now. Even if there _is_ a resentment he hasn’t bothered acknowledging yet, Alec’s arms are still too familiar to shove away. Alec is still warm, and these days Magnus is so, so cold.

He’s shivering, his skin still dripping with water from his shower. His hair is wet and scraggly on his forehead, and Magnus is momentarily grateful when Alec combs it away. He doesn’t know how long he cries into Alec, but as soon as the sobs aren’t wracking his shoulders as strongly, Alec is pulling away, muttering a quick, “Hold on.”

 _No, no, come back_ , Magnus thinks feverishly. He looks up, to where Alec is rummaging around his side of the closet. It’s only seconds before Alec is back, bringing with him a thick bundle of clothes. Magnus stares at them blankly, and then realizes, they’re Alec’s clothes: an oversized hoodie and sweatpants.

“Here,” says Alec, unfolding the clothes. He bundles up the hoodie so Magnus can easily slip his head through it, and helps with the arms, as well. The immediate warmth is so overwhelming, Magnus nearly starts crying again.

He offers Alec a watery smile instead. “Thank you,” he says, and when a few stray tears fall, he doesn’t bother wiping them away.

The hoodie hangs off Magnus a bit, enough for him to huddle into it. He wraps his arms around himself, and when Alec pulls him to stand, so he can get Magnus into his sweatpants, he makes himself pliant and easy to maneuver.

Alec’s features flicker through a series of emotions: guilt, Magnus can see, and sorrow, relief?, and a devastating helplessness. Tentatively, Alec leans in and presses a soft, quivering kiss to his forehead.

Before, loving Alec was the sudden clarity of _“This is it. This is the happiest moment of my life."_ but over, and over, and over again. Now, it’s instead a series of _“Okay. I’m okay. We’re okay.”_

All Magnus wants to do is sleep. It’s 3 p.m., but while he’d thought today would be productive, maybe what he needs right now is to pull the sheets over his head. Maybe that will force the misery to seep from his veins.

“Bed?” Alec asks.

Magnus blinks. _Oh, right_ , he thinks. Is this another thing he’d forgotten? That Alec will somehow, always know what he needs?

As Alec pulls him out of the closet, their hands clasped tightly, Magnus regards the back of his head, the slope of his shoulders. Alec’s hand is rough and calloused and gentle. He’s so warm. There’s so much within Alec, a space for Magnus to sink into and drown in.

When they approach the bed and Alec lets go of his hand, Magnus doesn’t move past him to get into it. He closes the distance between them and hugs Alec from behind, pressing his face into the top of his back. When Magnus kisses the base of his neck, Alec relaxes into him, and his hands find Magnus’ around his waist.

Magnus lets the tears fall, when they rise through him. “You are so precious to me,” he whispers, branding the words into Alec’s spine. Alec shivers, then settles. His hands tighten around Magnus’, and Magnus _loves_. He loves so strongly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is probs the last post-3x10 snippet i'll have in convivial. if you're interested in a full fic, an actual two-shot that delves deeper into it, check out my series [One Lifetime Left](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15461754) ;)


	4. Alec & Maryse: Grief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 4\. alec and maryse share a moment, quietly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: angst, hurt/comfort
> 
> follow and tweet with #convivialmalec

Alec lays on sofa in his office, staring up the at the ceiling. Somehow, when he looks long enough, it feels like it’s a little lower than before, a little closer. Holding him in.

He had felt nauseous before, with the worry under his skin and the tears that come with it. His chest was tight, and his body was a single wire, so tired from vibrating, it was ready to snap. He could choke on the knot in his chest, if it weren’t blocking his ability to breathe.

That’s why he’d stood from his chair and rolled onto the sofa. A small break, he told himself. But he’s lost track of time now. His phone is somewhere on the other side of the room. His stele, too. He has allowed himself to drift, forget the unevenness of the air for moments before it all comes rushing back.

It’s like breathing. Inhale, and the world seems to disappear, and Alec falls into a semi-meditative state. Exhale, and _oh yeah_ , he’s supposed to be getting work done but hasn’t found the motivation, and people are counting on him, and he’s letting them down, he’s letting them all down, but he can’t ignore the buzzing in his diaphragm anymore.  

But most of the time, laying here, he’s not thinking about anything, not really. He’s just staring at the ceiling, and the ceiling is there. He’s there, and the sofa, below him, is there. The room around him, too, although it feels a little more distant.

He wishes he’d chosen to lay on the floor instead.

The knock on the door doesn’t jolt him out of his reverie; it couldn’t, considering he hadn’t been lost in his thoughts. But he still needs a moment to bring the words to his mouth, to remember how to make his body move. To remember that he’s supposed to, in the first place.

If it was anyone else, they’d wait for Alec’s permission before trying to door handle. But whoever’s on the other side doesn’t. So when the handle turns and the office door is pushed tentatively open, Alec already knows it’s Maryse. She’s the only one who would.

Still, she’s quiet about it, probably because she wasn’t sure if he was here. He doesn’t bother moving as she enters. He just stares at the ceiling. There’s a stained glass up there, often forgotten and overshadowed by the huge pieces on two walls of the office. But it’s there. It’s a circle with just a single rune: measure. Alec’s not really sure what it means. He watches it.

Maryse doesn’t say anything as she approaches. Alec dreads it, the moment she’ll finally speak, the sharp inhale right before it. She’s always been a proponent of tough love, but if she raises her voice, Alec thinks he might crumble.

She doesn't stand over him, towering, like he thinks she might. She doesn’t even crouch next to him. Instead, she sits, heels and dress and all, crossed-legs on the floor next to the sofa, by his head. She watches him, and he stares the ceiling and the stained glass rune.

“Alec,” she says, quiet, barely over a whisper. “What are you doing over there?”

He doesn’t reply, and can’t bring his shoulders to shrug. He just exhales, a long sigh, and wishes she would understand. Shouldn’t she, as a former Head of Institute? He wishes he could bring the words to his mouth, and he wishes he’d chosen to lay on the floor instead.

Maryse reaches up and delicately brushes his hair off his forehead. It’s something she used to do often when he was young. At the time, he’d thought it was just for keeping up appearances, but now he thinks it might’ve been her own way of checking up on him.

“Baby,” she says, and there’s a hint of pleading in her voice. “You have to tell me how I can help you.” Her hand finds his shoulder, but she just rests it there without squeezing or anything that other people might consider grounding.

Maybe she does get it, after all.

The words bubble from Alec’s mouth before he realizes they’re there. “I lost two people today,” he says.

Maryse’s chest rises and falls heavily, but the actual sigh is silent. That part of her reaction is not for Alec’s benefit; it’s her own bracing. “I know,” she replies.

“It’s not the first time.”

And again: “I know.” Her voice is tremulous, but she doesn’t sound close to crying. Not the way Alec is, in any case.

Finally, Alec turns his head and looks at her. It’s the combination, he thinks, that finally pulls the tears from his eyes: the sight of his mother, usually so put-together and high-strung, sitting crossed-leg on the floor of the office and slow crawl of grief reaching his throat.

“Why does it alway hurt?” he asks, desperate. Because she gets it, he knows, and she’s his mother, and she’s always had the answers, even when there weren’t any.

Maryse swipes a few of this tears away, and when she smiles at him, it’s proud and sympathetic and anguished. “Because you are a good man, Alexander.” He thinks there’s a glint of wetness in her eyes, but Maryse closes them tightly and leans her forehead against his. “Because you know what it means to live, and to love.”

Her words sound desperate in a furious way. Like she wants to press them into his skin until he believes it. Like she can armor him from the guilt on his shoulders.

She doesn’t stop stroking his cheek even when more tears fall. Alec opens his mouth to say something, to deny it, maybe, or to ask her how she handled it all those years, but instead what spills from his lips is a watery, quivering: “ _Mom_.”


	5. Alec-centric: High School Struggles with Sexuality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 5\. alec struggling with his sexuality because what he feels for magnus confuses him enough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: light angst, alternate universe - high school, alec-centric
> 
> follow or tweet this fic with #convivialmalec

Alec doesn’t know when he begins to realize it, or even give it any thought at all. It starts as a seed in the back of his mind, where ideas go to die before they’re born because they’re probably too inconvenient to spend any time with at all.

High school is all dramatic yet giggly romance, chatter in the hallways from kids who think they’re older than they are, making bad decisions and high-fiving in class the next morning. But Alec’s never really been interested in all that.

When Isabelle begins viewing men more appraisingly than before, and even when she bothers him with more direct questions, _wink-wink-nudge-nudge-Alec_ , he never bothers with the intricacies of romance and dating and will-they-won’t-they.

It isn’t a big deal, in his mind. He just isn’t a sexual person by nature, and he has other, better responsibilities to focus on. Dating seems exhausting, and despite Isabelle’s best attempts to tell him that high school is the best time to keep things casual, it feels easier to just wait until college for that, when he won’t be in class or the same building, at least, with someone he hooked up with.

Although he can’t envision himself doing much of that, if he’s being honest. Alec doesn’t think he’s ace or anything, although there are days he wonders, especially when Jace is waxing poetic about Clary’s tits and how he didn’t know how soft they’d be.

He just… isn’t interested. Just, one day he'll find the right person, the world will open up for him, and he'll see everything he's supposedly been missing. 

And then he meets Magnus Bane, and the world falls apart. Magnus has a reputation, is the thing. He wears makeup and jewelry and is always dressed to the nines, is one of the only openly queer students who still makes himself loud enough to be seen, and single-handedly won them the State Science Olympiad for the school.

It’s like the universe doesn’t know what to do with him, what box to put him in, and the day Alec finally meets him in person, he doesn’t either.

Their conversation is a blur, just something in passing as Alec waits for Isabelle outside the lab she’s working in. When he’s alone in the hallway again, Magnus long gone, Alec is dazed and off-kilter. His heart is thudding wildly in his chest.

Alec doesn’t know what to think of Magnus. All he knows is that he’s crazily, ridiculously, pulse-quickeningly _terrified_ of him. And he has no clue why.

Something about Magnus ignites in Alec his fight-or-flight response so strongly, Alec wishes with his entire being that he could be a million miles away.

He doesn’t want to think about it. It’s the same way Alec doesn’t think about what it’d be like to go on a date with a girl, take her out and like, fucking share a milkshake or something sappy. It’s all white noise. A total blank when he tries to reflect on it.

But despite the wall he seems to hit, his reaction to Magnus plagues Alec’s mind for the weeks afterward. In his darkest moments, when he’s staring at his ceiling with the covers pulled up to his chin, Alec wonders if he’s homophobic.

It’s a sickening thought, because that’s not the type of person he wants to be. But he knows he’s grown up within a family that’s not too tolerant of the “other,” and Magnus is everything his parents would be uncomfortable around.

But that still doesn’t excuse him. Because Alec wants to be better. He’d thought he was, at least.

But he can’t think of another reason why Magnus’ presence, just an easy smile from him when they pass each other in the hallway because, _of course_ , Magnus seems to be _everywhere_ now, would make Alec want to shrink into himself and implode.

Maybe it’s the fact that Magnus wears makeup, he thinks. Y’know, shoves his lifestyle into everyone’s face and makes it impossible for anyone to ignore that he likes men, and likes to kiss them and hold hands with them and _everything else_ , too.

He thinks about the peach tinge on Magnus’ eyelids, paired with artfully-done and bold eyeliner, highlighting his very brown eyes. And Alec… well, he struggles. Because the way his blood rushes is foreign to him, like his body doesn’t quite belong to him as carefully as before.

And when the wall— _that_ wall, that he keeps hitting every time he thinks about people, romantically, sexually, _whatever_ —starts crumbling, Alec hates it. And he hates Magnus for it, too, because it’s his fault that this is happening. And Alec catches himself staring at people nowadays, wondering.

And it feels like a betrayal. Because it’s not just people. It’s men.

It takes almost a month and a half before Alec doesn’t feel a knot in his chest every time he thinks about it. _It_ , a.k.a the fact that he feels like he’s viewing the world through Magnus’ eyes, or what he presumes Magnus’ perspective is.

But he can’t help himself. He looks at a man, at the shape of his face and the breadth of his shoulders, and wonders: what would Magnus see in a man like this? Would he notice the strength of his hands, or the way his glasses frame his eyes?

The worst part is that all of Alec’s skittishness around Magnus is very, very obvious. So obvious, in fact, that Magnus keeps shooting him these confused, side-long glances when they see each other and Alec ducks his head away. And soon, they turn into stony glares, instead.

Alec feels terrible; he knows Magnus thinks that Alec has a problem with him, with his sexuality. And Alec doesn’t. He firmly repeats it to himself until it sounds like the truth: he’s not homophobic, and he doesn’t have a problem with queer people or Magnus, and his makeup and flamboyance.

But he can’t control the way his stomach drops when he’s around him, like something is struggling to crawl out from his skin, ready to boil over from just under the surface. He wonders if it’s because there’s something about Magnus that he’s attracted to.

Maybe it’s the makeup and glamor, rationalizes Alec. It's mostly girls who wear makeup, after all. He pictures Magnus’ hands, with rings and nails painted, and the ever-changing stripe through his spiked hair. There’s something tantalizing about the earcuffs Magnus wears every day. It _works_ for Magnus, and if Alec didn’t physically make himself turn away, he wouldn’t be able to peel his eyes away.

But then he thinks about the same things on a woman, and imagines a softly curved body with the same makeup and jewelry adornments. She’s faceless, because he can’t conjure a single woman who’s comparable to Magnus. But the image of it does nothing for him. Where his breath catches at the sight of Magnus, something undefinable in his throat, Alec cares little for a woman made up the same way.

That means something, and Alec knows it does, but he—, he can’t be gay. He just—. he can’t be. The wall is back, standing taller than ever, extended into the clouds. Because Alexander Lightwood cannot be gay. He doesn’t even know what the labels are, and what everything means, and sexuality has never been something he’s ever thought he’d question, the way he’s read and heard people have to when they’re queer.

It’s not just that he can’t be, honestly. It’s that he’s _not_. He doesn’t even know what that would feel like, what “gay” or “queer” would even mean for him. He doesn’t have any experience with sexuality or romance or anything, and Magnus probably just threw Alec off his game enough to bring up these questions. He’s not gay. He’s perfectly fine with people who are, but he’s not.

But then at some point, Alec mentally assures himself, _“I’m not gay._ ” and his mind traitorously adds, “ _right?_ ” It’s the same sinking feeling that Magnus gives him, of uncertainty and doubt and something calamitous on the horizon. But if the ground beneath his feet has been shaken so much, could the tumult possibly settle it all?

So what if he’s attracted to Magnus? Men can be attracted to men, or like, find them objectively attractive. And no one in their right mind would find Magnus unattractive. He’s got the face, the body, and he knows how to carry it all with confidence.

That doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t mean that Alec’s—. Does it mean that Alec’s gay?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> coming up are a clothes sharing hogwarts au and an accidental vegas marriage au. previews on twitter @inviq or link in end-end notes

**Author's Note:**

> i'm active on [twitter](http://twitter.com/inviq), so come hang there. also, i have a [tumblr](http://apartmented.tumblr.com).
> 
> i'll take prompts for this fic, and will write your prompt if it strikes an interest and/or i'm inspired for it. or you can buy me a ko-fi (or paypal me commission money) to get yours written for sure. 
> 
> i'm also taking normal fic commissions so that i can afford tuition for the upcoming year. you can request any pairing i'm familiar with, any prompt, rating, or kink. (i have the right to refuse.) and we'll discuss the details. 
> 
> more details on my twitter— dm if you're interested!


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